Amitié
by Odainath
Summary: Spoilers for Season 8. Some people live up to their reputation; others exceed it.


**Author's notes:** This is just a quick fic that I whipped up after watching 8.01 (again) and the line from Sarah Crawfield (a.k.a Christine version 2) _'certainly before Ros Myers did; from what I've heard of her'_ in relation to finding Viktor Sarkisiian dead. See it as a quick run-through of what has already happened during Season 8 and what may then occur. Obviously I'm changing quite a few things, namely the Sarah/Lucas relationship as I loathe it to high heaven. This could be seen as slight Ros/Sarah if you squint really hard.

Watch for spoilers!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Spooks; it is the property of Kudos and the BBC.

**Summary:** Some people live up to their reputation; others exceed it. Season 8 spoilers.

* * *

**Amitié**

* * *

If anything could be said for foreshadowing, then the weather was cold and bleak the first time they met. Grey clouds hung low, smothering the streets. Sarah buttoned her jacket, in an attempt to ward off the chill, and leant against the guard rail. She had been here only a week and she longed to go home, to the warmth. Footsteps made her turn and she watched as the woman approached. The hallway was dark and she was swathed in shadows, her face obscured. Sarah could see a lighter patch against the dark and decided she was a blonde and as the woman drew closer she saw that the woman's hair was lighter than even her own, almost white. She lived up to the description of 'spook', still intangible despite only being ten foot away.

Suddenly, as she stepped into the light, she was sharply focused, and Sarah found herself inwardly reeling. A smoothly sloping forehead descended to heavily-lidded eyes that, at that moment, conveyed both annoyance and impatience; it was obvious that the woman did not want to be here. Her face was made up of straight lines and hollows, she was certainly not conventionally attractive, but there was something about her that could make people stop and pause. Her figure showed no trace of curves, she was… sharp; an adjective which seemed to suit every aspect of the character she projected.

"Ros Myers."

"Where's Lucas?" said Sarah, deciding to play it cool.

The other woman raised her eyebrows and Sarah found Ros' startling eyes boring into her own. They were green and would be perfectly ordinary were it not for the hardness beneath, coupled with something Sarah simply couldn't place, not at the moment anyway.

"Lucas?" Ros commented, her mouth tilting upward. "Just how cozy did you two get?"

Sarah bristled but tried not to show her reaction, instinctively knowing this would further amuse Ros.

"He promised me a deal."

"Ah," Ros said, nodding theatrically, "I'm afraid we've hit a… snag. Lucas didn't _actually_ have the authorization to offer you a deal."

She smiled, or rather smirked, and Sarah knew there was no use trying to negotiate, to salvage at least a small part of the deal. The argument had already been decided before it had begun and she had not been the victor.

"You bastards," muttered Sarah beneath her breath, "there _will_ be pay back."

Ros nodded again, slowly this time as if deliberating her next words. "Oh, I'm sure there will be."

With those final words she turned neatly and walked back down the hallway, her boots snapping against the floor. Sarah exhaled a long breath and turned back to the window. She had heard of Ros Myers (who in the intelligence circles hadn't) but she had thought that the descriptions of 'cold as ice,' 'scary as hell,' and 'ruthless' among others had been exaggerated claims. Instead she found that they barely scratched the surface of the other woman, whose footsteps she could still hear.

Sarah sighed and looked down briefly at the floor; she had a feeling this… relationship would be difficult.

--

"I need you to stall the Tazbeck deal."

Sarah looked up from her desk and looked at her superior. She could not disobey a direct order but as much as she hated the Tazbecks, she understood just how important this deal was, how crucial it was to Britain.

"Is that wise?" she asked slowly.

"You agree with this deal?" he said incredulously.

Sarah shook her head quickly. "No, but we may need their oil one day; it might pay to keep them onside."

His eyes narrowed and he looked at her shrewdly as if weighing his options.

"Stall the deal."

--

Ros, understandably, was furious when Sarah arrived at the park. They sat, three foot apart on one of the benches, looking out over a pond. Children played, their laughter foreign against the eerie silence that Sarah was beginning to associate with Britain. Ros had a newspaper open and leaning against her knee, though her eyes were not moving over the page.

"Do you have _any_ idea how much this deal means to Britain?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"I may have."

At her flippant answer Ros turned her head to the side and Sarah was subjected to the full force of her glare. Ros' green eyes, already hard, were like steel and she fought the urge to flinch.

"Then you are an idiot for stopping the deal."

Her words carried a note of finality and Sarah watched, unsure what was happening, as Ros rose to her feet throwing the newspaper onto Sarah's lap.

"Oh, I thought you should know," she said casually. "Roston Yurosov was shot one hour ago; the deal is going through without him."

Sarah's eyes widened and she saw a glimmer of amusement reach Ros' eyes.

"Do you really think we would let him continue to walk the streets?" she asked, as if addressing a child.

She spun on her heel and walked away, her boots crunching the gravel beneath.

--

The bar was surprisingly empty and Sarah sat on the high, wooden stool and ordered a glass of red wine from the bartender. Ros had opted for a gin and tonic; one, Sarah noticed, that was heavy on the gin. Ros ran her finger around the edge of the glass, the high pitched sound grating to the ears. They had been ordered to meet by their respective bosses and it had been Ros who had suggested the bar.

"The Bendorf group," Ros said, initiating the conversation, "are currently tucked up safe-and-sound in their hotels with a small army protecting them. I doubt anything will happen."

Her voice was hoarse, not at all like her crisp tones and Sarah remembered that one of her team had died during the siege.

For some reason, against her usual instinct, she offered an apology.

"I was sorry to hear about your officer."

Ros' eyes snapped to hers and she watched as they literally turned to ice.

"Did they tell you that I was the one who killed her?" she said harshly.

Sarah shook her head, horrified.

"Another story to add to my 'reputation,'" Ros continued, and Sarah could hear a note, though extremely slight, of bitterness in her voice.

"It is quite… impressive," Sarah said.

Ros laughed and it sent shivers down Sarah's spine.

"Ironic."

With no further word she slipped off the bar stool and walked out into the cold, leaving her untouched drink behind.

--

Sarah's eyes widened as she walked into the Sovereign Hotel. Ros was there, wearing a black dress that left little to the imagination, speaking to a man the CIA had had their eye on for some time. She was supposed to do the same as Ros, but as the other woman swept her eyes across the room and met Sarah's; she knew the game was lost. Sarah was under no illusions that she was attractive, if she were overly arrogant she might say she was more attractive than Ros, but she lacked the… spark that men found alluring; the challenge a man knew he would have to win to gain her affection.

"Sarah," a voice said in her ear, startling her out of her observations. "What the hell are you doing?"

"We're too late," she admitted, looking once more at Ros and their target, Robert Hastings, the former who was laughing at something he said.

The two stood and walked past Sarah, who found herself unable to look away. They stopped in the foyer and he leant forward to kiss Ros on the cheek. She reached out, clasping one of his hands in hers, whilst reaching out with the other and trailing her fingers across his shoulder – the invitation clear. Predictably, when she led him toward the hallway, no doubt to his hotel suite, Hastings followed without question, reaching out to pull her towards him, one arm around her waist.

"Sarah?" the voice said, again pulling her back into the present.

She didn't move.

--

"I didn't recognize you with your clothes on."

Ros laughed, a surprisingly throaty sound, at Sarah's words. They were in a supposedly abandoned house, one that MI-5 had used before Connie James had told the FSB the location of every safe-house in London. Ros leant against the windowsill, looking out over the estate. It didn't make for happy viewing, with the council apartments that rose toward the sky, each an architectural atrocity.

"Don't tell me you had the hotel room under surveillance?" she asked, turning so Sarah could only see her in profile.

"Aren't you the slightest bit embarrassed?" Sarah said, her question an answer in itself.

"No," Ros said simply.

"You don't care that you're on video surveillance with Hastings?" Sarah asked, not understanding how the other woman wasn't at least blushing.

"No," Ros repeated, "though I am surprised by your reaction; you didn't have to watch the footage, at least, not all of it."

Sarah said nothing, colour rising to her cheeks.

"You _did_ watch all of it?" Ros said, a smile tugging at her lips. "That's certainly taking 'operational surety' to an entirely new level."

Her tone was mocking and Sarah felt like an errant teenager.

"No," she said after a pause, "I came to give you this."

Ros took the file in Sarah's out-stretched hand and flicked through it, her lips pursing as she read. Sarah had been ordered to give MI-5 the dossier and she was unsure what it contained. She had learned early in her career that some questions are better left unasked before even unanswered.

"Why are you giving me this?" Ros demanded, snapping the file shut.

"We are allies, are we not?" Sarah said, glad that she was able to surprise the other woman; it was something not easily achieved.

Ros' eyes narrowed.

"That means nothing in this profession, so you'll understand my… suspicions."

"I do."

"Good."

--

The red walls of the office, which she had at first found jarring, had become unnoticeable. She looked out onto the Grid, her eyes taking in the brisk efficiency in which it worked. Ros, she had been told, was on assignment and she had been summoned here by Harry Pearce, for reasons she didn't yet know. Lucas walked past and glanced into the office, his pupils dilating when they landed upon her. He obviously hadn't expected to see her here.

"Miss Crawfield."

His voice was filled with barely-disguised venom and Sarah felt skin at the back of her neck prickle. This was definitely not a social call.

"Yes, Harry?" she said, trying for nonchalance.

The man's eyes narrowed and soon resembled polished steel; she could see that he and Ros would make a formidable team. Two people who could look like _that_ were all but made for each other.

"You gave Ros Myers information which you assured her was legitimate," he began, sitting down at his desk.

"That's correct."

"Well, it turns out that in actual fact there was an error, one which has placed my Section Chief in danger."

Ice flooded through Sarah's veins at his words.

"What type of danger-?"

Harry's attention was diverted by the distinctive '_whoosh'_ of the pods and he turned his head, relief flooding across his face. Sarah followed his line of sight to see Ros stalking toward his office, heels a staccato beat against the hard floor. She shut the door behind her viciously, the sound reverberating in the small room.

"What the bloody hell happened?" she spat.

It was then that Sarah saw Ros' disheveled state; her blonde hair, usually steadfastly in place, was streaked with dirt, a bruise was blooming around her right eye and her lip was split, a small amount of dried blood at the corner of her mouth. The red dress she wore was ripped at the waist, exposing pale skin.

"I was hoping Miss Crawfield could answer that question," Harry answered, folding his hands in his lap.

"I gave you information; it you acted upon it rashly, I don't see how I'm culpable-"

She shut her mouth quickly when she felt the cold metal of a gun pressed hard against her temple.

"What happened?" Ros asked, her voice suddenly sweet; a harsh contrast to her actions.

"I don't know," Sarah said truthfully, "I simply did what I was told."

Ros laughed incredulously, though her grip on the gun didn't waver. "That's it, that's your excuse?"

"It's the truth."

"I don't believe it," Ros said in disbelief. "You just blindly…"

"Ros, that's enough."

Harry Pearce's voice was calm and Sarah watched as Ros lowered the gun. The silver contrasted with the red of her dress and Sarah looked at the weapon rather than Ros as the woman turned toward Harry.

"Get yourself cleaned up, Ros," he continued.

"Fine."

She strode out the office.

Sarah noticed that she didn't leave the gun.

--

The rain was heavy and Sarah jammed her hands in her pockets. Drops trickled down her neck, seeping into her shirt, and she shivered at the cold. It may have been summer, but the weather was still dreary. She leant against a concrete pillar and looked around. Ros appeared like a spectre, one moment invisible within the rain, the next solid. The bruise around her eye had yellowed though her lip appeared to have healed.

"You need to buy a better coat," she said by way of greeting.

Sarah looked down, confused. She had bought the coat in London and had been assured it would suffice for any conditions. Now, as the rain pounded down, she realised she had been taken for a fool.

"You wanted to see me?" Ros continued.

"What does the name 'Darlek' mean to you?" Sarah asked.

"Russian Mafia; MI-5 has had several dealings with the Darlek family," Ros answered promptly, pulling up her collar.

"I know…"

"Then why ask the question?"

Sarah scowled, not liking the interruption.

"I would… appreciate any information you might have," she said carefully.

Ros laughed lightly and shook her head. "After what you gave me last time, do you expect me to reciprocate?"

It was a rhetorical question but Sarah nevertheless answered.

"It would be extremely useful-"

"No," Ros said succinctly, already turning away. "We might keep what we know to ourselves."

She walked away, water splashing around her feet. Sarah watched her go, noting how her black coat fell down to above her knees, the material repelling the ongoing rain. Ros' distinctive white-blonde hair blended with the rain and in seconds she had disappeared.

--

The American Embassy, as always, was loud and Sarah winced as a multitude of accents collided to make one indecipherable noise, one that could make any person flinch. She had never noticed how loud Americans spoke, not before spending time in a country where murmurs and whispers formed the basis of conversation.

"Sarah, it's lovely to see you again."

Lucas North smiled, his blue eyes friendly, but Sarah could feel only disappointment.

"Where's Ros?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Lucas' eyes clouded and she caught a glimpse of grief that was quickly suppressed.

"We… lost Ros a few days ago. You heard about the Asquith bombing?"

Sarah nodded slowly; there was not a person in the UK who hadn't heard about the bombing. Five senators and an ambassador were lucky to survive after being pulled out, seconds before the explosion occurred. According to all news reports there had been no causalities, only a large clean-up bill.

"How?" Sarah asked, surprised at how hoarse her voice had become. It wasn't as if she and Ros had been friends, colleagues was stretching it, but she couldn't help the surge of sadness that ripped through her body.

"From witness reports it seemed that it was a suicide bombing," Lucas answered softly. "Ros pushed him into a bathroom, away from the main area, giving them time to escape but…"

Sarah said nothing, unable to speak.

"It's been difficult," Lucas admitted, taking her silence as the cue to continue. "She's the fifth person we've lost in less than a year."

"I'm sorry," said Sarah, finding her voice.

"Thank you," responded Lucas, looking briefly down at the floor.

"How is Harry Pearce coping?" asked Sarah, remembering the two's interaction the night she had been summoned to the Grid. If anyone would be grieving for Ros, it was would be him.

"Oh, he's acting as if nothing has happened," answered Lucas, his voice filled with definite irritation. "But…"

"Ros said she had something for me?" Sarah said, changing the subject that was becoming increasingly painful for both of them.

"Oh, yes…"

--

The airport was warm as Sarah waited for the flight back to Texas. Her superiors had been surprised when she had requested a transfer back home but, as was the norm with the CIA, nobody questioned her motives. The transfer had taken even less time than she had expected and now, only a fortnight after Ros' death, she sat at the gate, staring outside. She had heard from office gossip that Lucas North had assumed the position of Section Chief, which didn't surprise her in the least.

She had also heard that the remaining members of the terrorist group behind the Asquith bombing had been detained except for one, the ring leader, who had apparently vanished into thin air. Coincidentally he had disappeared at the same time that Harry Pearce and Lucas North had been off the Grid, out of contact for two hours.

Sarah doubted that his body would ever be found.

She sighed and stared briefly at the floor before looking, once again, out the window.

It seemed ironic that today, of all days, the sun was shining brightly.

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**Author's notes:** I hope you liked; please review.

_Odainath_


End file.
